I Wish I Could Change Things
by crawlcarrymethrough
Summary: A three-part look into events happening in and around the time of 5x04 through the eyes of Castiel, Dean, and Chuck. Warning, spoilers for 5x04 and character death. Pretty angsty. My first story ever. Reviews are Love!


_**Rating**__: "T" for general angst, substance abuse, orgies, some gore, and character deaths.  
__**Spoilers**__: General spoilers for 5x04. If you haven't seen it, don't read if you don't want it spoiled.  
__**Disclaimer**__: I neither own Supernatural, nor the amazing characters involved. All rights belong to Eric Kripke and whoever else owns them. In Kripke we trust._

_**Summary**__: This is just a look at things that might have been happening in and around the time of "The End", through the eyes of Castiel. Not going to lie, its pretty angsty._

"_**Trust can take years to build but only seconds to break." - Unknown**_

"There. Second floor window, we go in there. They'll never see us coming."

Dean was lying to them, and Castiel knew it. Sure, the others had known their fearless leader for a few years now, but not as intimately as he had. He was the one who had gripped him tight and raised him from perdition. The one whose handprint has forever been burned into their fearless leader's left arm as a reminder. It was not only to remind Dean of what Castiel had done for him under the orders of heaven, but also of what he had sacrificed for him of his own accord.

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Lately, Castiel was barely a shadow of his former glory. Reduced to pill popping and orgies in order to conceal his inner demons, he was nothing like what he used to be. Five years ago, he was strong. His grace shone like a pure beacon in the cruel darkness of night, and his piercing blue-eyed stare could see right through someone and into the very depths of their soul. But now...

After the angels left, or rather abandoned the earth and its inhabitants, he could feel himself growing weaker each day that passed. Cuts and bruises that used to heal themselves within minutes now took days to disappear. For the first time in his existence, he felt the pains of hunger, thirst and exhaustion. Years ago, the concept of eating, drinking or sleeping would have appeared strange and absurd. Now, however, they were a necessity to survive.

At first, his transformation into something resembling a human frightened him. That was the kicker. He felt fear. Castiel, heaven's courageous warrior, was afraid. The emotion itself, among others, was new to him and seemed to grip him tight, flooding his brain with its poison.

He didn't know what to make of what was happening to him. He toyed with the idea of consulting Dean, but instead shrugged the thought off and stored it in the back of his mind for another time. Dean had other worries that he needed to attend to. He didn't have time, nor did anyone, to worry about Castiel or his newfound emotions. At least, that's what he convinced himself anyway.

Finally, when he just couldn't take it any longer, he broke. Thankfully, Dean was the only one around to witness the display, but he still felt the embarrassment of the moment years later. He still wished that no one was there to witness his display of frailty.

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They had been out running a routine mission. Dean had no idea what was happening to Castiel. He could see the hunter couldn't quite make sense of why the angel had been acting the way he had recently. Castiel, who was once strong and stoic, had seemed different for the past few weeks and Dean couldn't quite place what it was. He has asked him once what was going on, but Castiel, hiding behind his detached expression, had told him nothing was wrong. After that, Dean didn't press for any further details. He figured Dean thought that when he was ready, Castiel would come and talk to him. Besides, Dean was never one for chick flick moments.

The mission objective had been clear: search for toilet paper. There was once a time when Dean would have laughed at the idea of a mission for toilet paper, but now, Castiel sensed he knew it was better to keep his opinions to himself. Chuck had been continuously reminding him how much people had been asking for it, as well as the fact that they were running dangerously low on the material. So one day, when Dean couldn't take Chuck's constant whining any more, he decided to take Castiel out on a toilet paper run with him.

As the two walked through the ravaged town together, they surveyed the remains with weary eyes. The Coratoan virus had taken its toll on mankind. The streets were littered with rubble and bodies. To Castiel's left, he could see what looked like something that had once been a baby's cradle; to his right, what used to be a theatre. The air was thick with the dust from debris, and after a while, it became difficult to breathe.

The most disconcerting fact of all, however, was the general lack of noise. Only a few years ago, the streets would have been filled with the sounds of cars and voices belonging to the town's inhabitants. But now, there was nothing of the sort. The air was filled with an unnatural silence, with the exception of the sounds coming from their footsteps manoeuvring amongst the rubble.

He wanted to weep at the injustice of it all. These people, His father's creations, were precious and beautiful in his eyes, but Lucifer, his brother, had sent a deadly virus to destroy them and turn them against each other. To Lucifer, mankind was nothing but a nuisance.

While Dean and Castiel walked together, venturing into nearby buildings, searching for the objective of their mission, they each kept silent. Dean was too preoccupied with creating tactics on how to deal with his twitchy trauma survivors to care to initiate a conversation, and Castiel was too engrossed in his thoughts to even try.

When the two entered a particularly damaged building together, Castiel, absorbed in his musings, did not notice the gaping hole in the floor.

"Cas, watch out!"

Before Dean could warn him, he had fallen through and landed heavily on the cold concrete beneath. He could hear the crunching sound of his body hitting the floor, and feel white hot agony course through his body. He had never felt pain like this before. It was so vivid, it clouded his mind, and he cried out in distress.

"Cas, you ok?! Are you hurt?"

Dean could only stare at his angel, as Castiel began to weep, and all the fear and insecurities he had been bottling up for so long burst out of him like a rush of water. He cried for the injustice of the world. He cried for the loneliness at the abandonment of his brothers and sisters. He cried for confusion caused by the emotions flowing through his mind, and he cried for the one fact that Dean had failed to notice: he was no longer a true angel.

Dean wordlessly helped his friend out of the pit as Castiel continued to quietly sob and mumble words resembling, "It's not fair", or "I'm so sorry." Castiel could sense that Dean had no idea what to say to console his broken friend, so instead he said nothing. The effects of the world had taken their toll on him as well, and he was no longer as kind or gentle with the former angel like he used to be. This Dean was cold, and he knew it. Castiel could see that he knew that the only way to survive what he was feeling without breaking as his friend had was to extinguish any feelings of compassion left within him.

That was the last true kindness Dean had shown Castiel.

Once the two had made their way back to the camp, Dean had handed the former angel off to one of the medical staff without a word, and proceeded into his cabin alone. All Castiel could do was stare after his friend and silently weep for the worst injustice of all. After that, Dean no longer used the affectionate nickname for him anymore.

As the medical staff with their meagre amount of training began to wrap his injuries in the dirty bandages they had at their disposal, Castiel remained silent, despite his obvious discomfort. When they tried to strike up a conversation, he refused to answer. Soon, they gave up trying to make him smile, and instead focused on their task at hand. Castiel didn't even care. He felt numb. He felt alone. He knew that his friend Dean was gone.

That was then. This is now.

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After that day, Dean had grown colder and more distant, until Castiel wasn't sure if it was right to call them friends anymore. It wasn't long after that incident that Sam had decided to become Lucifer's vessel. Since then, Castiel had refused to participate in any more pointless missions, and instead, decided to bury himself in women and drugs and booze, and see where that path took him.

On the outside, he was friendly and kind, and offered a smile to those seemed to need it; but those smiles were never genuine, and they never seemed to reach his now uncaring eyes; eyes had once been such a radiant blue, now appeared only grey and lifeless.

He began spewing nonsense about "total perception", "group mind", and other crap he didn't even believe to whoever was around to listen at the time. Mainly, it was the distressed young women in the camp who came to visit him in his cabin during these times, and he took full advantage of that fact.

It was widely known around the camp that Castiel had become an alcoholic as well as a drug addict. People generally left him alone to whatever he decided to do. At one time, he had shared a cabin with Chuck, but eventually, he was given one of his own. People had complained about this to Dean, but he just shrugged them off and told them to leave the former angel alone to do whatever is was he wanted to do. Castiel couldn't figure out if it was because Dean didn't care about him, or because he just didn't know what to say. Either way, it didn't matter to him, because those times of lucid thinking were few and far between.

When he wasn't drunk, or stoned out of him mind, Castiel would usually wander around aimlessly, with his left hand in his pocket. People assumed he was guarding his stash of drugs, but they couldn't have been more wrong...

Most nights, when the effects of the drugs were beginning to wear off, Castiel would sneak away from the main camp and go off into the woods by himself. There, he would find a small clearing and lie on his back on the soft grass and stare up at the night sky for hours.

He used to pray during those times, but he had given that up long ago. He knew that even if his brothers and sisters could hear him, they wouldn't come back. Even Anna, his only other friend, had left with the rest of the angels.

On these nights, Castiel would reach into his left pocket and pull out the talisman hanging from the leather cord that he had taken from Dean years before.

There used to be a time when Dean would ask almost every day if he could have his necklace back. Back then, Castiel had needed it in order to find God, and had denied his friend's request. Over time, Dean began to stop asking, most likely preoccupied with the events unfolding before him to think about his necklace.

Castiel had given up the search for God long ago. He didn't know why he had held on to the necklace instead of giving it back to Dean. He wondered if maybe it was because it reminded him of how his friend used to be, or maybe because it reminded him of how strong his faith once was. Whatever the reason, he hadn't given it back yet, and he wasn't sure if he ever would.

He didn't know what to say to Dean. They hadn't held a true one on one conversation with him in at least a few months. The only times the two did speak were in the company of others, or in fleeting moments where Dean would issue Castiel orders, which he, in turn, would obey without question.

He had thought about confronting Dean and giving him back what was rightfully his, but he wasn't sure how. What could he say to his former friend? "Hi Dean! I know we never speak any more, but here's your necklace that I took from you a few years back that I've been meaning to give back to you for a while now. Ok, bye." Yeah, _that_ would go over well.

Instead, he placed the item back in his pocket, proceeded back to his cabin, and drank until he fell asleep, forgetting about his pain and drowning out the voices of his nightmares for the small amount of time that he could.

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Yesterday, Castiel had encountered past Dean in their camp. He was in the middle of one of his "love guru" sessions with the girls when he glanced over and spotted him in the doorway. At first, he couldn't figure out why he was in his cabin, since Dean hadn't been in there in a few months. As he told the women around him that he needed a moment to speak to their leader, he suggested that they go get washed up before their orgy.

Out of the peripheral of his vision, Castiel could see the stunned expression on Dean's face. He thought that was strange, since Castiel's activities were not something new to Dean. In fact, he had witnessed him in this situation a number of times before. Usually the expression he wore was one resembling general annoyance or lack of interest.

He stiffly removed himself from the floor and began to stretch, and he could hear Dean's footsteps behind him as they moved closer to where he was. Castiel noticed that they too were different than usual. Normally, Dean would have marched in without a second thought, his gait announcing to the world that he was in change. Now, however, the footsteps seemed more hesitant.

"What're you, a hippie?"

That didn't sound right. Dean had stopped caring about what Castiel was doing a long time ago.

"I thought you'd gotten over trying to label me."

As he turned around, he noticed for the first time, through the general haze of the drugs and incense, that the Dean standing before him was not their fearless leader. He looked younger, kinder, and fuller of life than Castiel had seen him in years. The lines on his forehead, etched into his skin from many years of wearing the same grave expression, were not visible on the face of the Dean standing before him. He realized that this was the Dean he knew from years earlier.

"Cas we gotta talk."

"Cas." That one simple word confirmed his thoughts. This was not their fearless leader. He had not called him "Cas" in years. Until that moment, Castiel hadn't realized how much he had missed his nickname.

"Wow, strange."

"What?"

"You...are not you. Not _now_ you, anyway."

Unfortunately, his words did not come out as eloquent as he would have liked while trying to convey his thoughts. He supposed it was his own fault for mixing absinthe with cocaine.

They talked for a brief moment of time about how Zachariah had placed him in their time, and how he had come from 2009. Five years... Castiel thought about it for a moment, and sadly realized how far down the path of self-destruction he and his former friend had traveled in the short span of five years.

Standing before Castiel was the Dean that he had missed. His friend. His partner. The one with whom he had rebelled against heaven, because it was the right thing to do. The Dean whose smile lit up a room, and whose sarcasm warmed Castiel's frozen heart.

He wanted Dean, their fearless leader, to be like his past self again. But he was too far gone and there was no hope of him ever changing. When Sam had said yes to Lucifer, Dean had said no to the world.

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There they were, a band of twitchy trauma survivors, comprised of the two hunters, a former angel, and a few grunts, seeking cover beside a tank, outside a ruined looking building, whose plan was to kill the devil. Yeah, that just _screamed_ brilliant. There were no demons or Croats to be seen, and Castiel knew that something was wrong, but he did not voice his opinions. He knew better by now.

Dean, their fearless leader, was trying to convince them that their plan was flawless, and that they wouldn't even be seen coming, but Castiel knew better. He could tell Dean was lying and he knew they were walking into a trap. He could see how the others were hesitant, but trusted in their leader's judgement, because he had kept them alive so far. He could see how past Dean was looking at their fearless leader like he had two heads. He could see how he knew his future self was lying to them. But Castiel just didn't care anymore.

Wordlessly, he loaded his gun and surveyed the wreckage as he was instructed to as their fearless leader and his dear friend stood up and walked a few meters away to talk. He could see the two Dean's arguing with each other, and he knew it was about. Castiel knew that they were about to embark on a suicide mission, and that they had no hope of escaping alive, but he just didn't care anymore.

He had stopped caring the day Dean had turned his back on him. He had stopped caring the day he popped his first pill. He had stopped caring the day he drank his first glass of absinthe. He had simply stopped caring about himself and about the pathetic excuse for a life he was living.

Castiel was tired of the world, and if this mission would give him a release from it, then he would take it in a heartbeat. He glanced over one last time and could see that Dean, their fearless leader, had returned alone. He could see that his fist was red, and he knew what he must have done. But Castiel said nothing, because he just didn't _care_ anymore.

He wished that Dean could have been honest with him at least. He wished that Dean could have at least told _him_ that he was sending Castiel, his friend, or rather former friend and former angel, to die so that he could have a chance at stopping Lucifer. Castiel felt a twinge of betrayal at what Dean was asking them to do, but he knew better than to say anything. In truth, he wanted to scream and shake Dean until he gave up the fearless leader facade and became his friend again, but he knew better than that. Castiel knew that some wishes just didn't come true, and that some were just not meant to come true.

Without another word, the band of would-be heroes stormed the building and fought for their lives against the hordes of demons and Croats. A few were surprised that they had walked into a trap, and Castiel could see the hurt of betrayel in their eyes as they realized their fearless leader had given them up as decoys, and that he was nowhere to be seen.

Castiel took a brief second to survey the wreckage in front of his eyes before throwing himself back into the battle. All around him he saw bodies littering the hallways, blood spattered against the walls, and a pointless battle being fought in front of him. The air smelled of death and tasted of defeat. They knew there was no way out. They knew they would die in that place, and there was nothing they could do about it. He could feel the anger and disgust at their fearless leader emanating from his comrades. Reesa stole a quick glance back to him and he could see the resignation on her face.

Castiel blamed himself for their fates. He knew that Dean had lied to them, but he had been too afraid to say anything. He was afraid that whatever connection to his friend that he still had would shatter if he dared go against him. So he kept his mouth shut, and he let the others run towards their deaths.

As he turned around and shot down yet another Croat, he caught a sight of the other Dean out the window. He could see the fear and disgust written on his face as he realized his friends were dying and there was nothing he could do to help them. Castiel wished more than anything that he could join Dean outside and let him know that it wasn't his fault. He wished he could tell him what their friendship had meant to him. He wished he could give his friend back the talisman that was resting in his pocket that he knew did not belong to him, but he knew he couldn't. All he could do was to keep fighting, and to not go down willingly.

"Cas..."

He saw the word mouthed by the other Dean, and he was overjoyed. He now knew that at least somewhere in their fearless leader, buried deep under layers of pain and self-loathing that he still cared about his friend. The bond that they shared had never been broken, not could it ever be. Castiel had been wrong to doubt that even for a second.

He realized that the reason their fearless leader hadn't been honest with him was because he couldn't face his friend and tell him that he was sending him to die. It was because didn't want to crush the small amount of hope that may still have been left in the former angel.

That brief moment of distraction provided the opportunity needed for a Croat to get in close and stab Castiel straight through his already broken heart. After that, things became a haze. The white hot pain he was feeling blocked out everything for the briefest of seconds, and he felt peace, before all the sights, sounds, smells and feelings came rushing back to him.

"Castiel! No!"

He could hear Reesa shouting out to him, willing him to stand up and help her. He could see a group of Croats ganging up on her, and the next thing he knew, she too was on the ground bleeding from her chest. He could hear the endless hail of bullets, and the screams of his comrades, mixing with those of the infected Croats. He could taste his own blood, and smell it all around him, being mingled in amongst the scents of death and decay.

Castiel could feel himself slipping further into the beckoning darkness, and he knew he was not long for the world. Before his vision clouded over, he stole one last glance out the blood spattered window and he saw Dean running towards where he knew his Dean and Lucifer were already waiting, and for the first time in a long time, he prayed for their success. And as he felt himself slip away, he felt tears, for the first time in years, running hot down his face.

"_**It is hard to believe that a man is telling the truth when you know that you would lie if you were in his place." – Henry Louis Mencken**_


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